Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“You would not attack the Fakarans?” questioned Lady Mystic. “Would you?”

“Of course not,” replied Xavo, “but I would hide from them. They are just as likely to kill us as the Motangans.”

“Well,” retorted Lady Mystic, “they will die if they attack us. Allies or not, I do not plan to lose you ever again.”

“I think we could easily hide from the tribes,” smiled Xavo as he thought about the Valley of the Ram. “I do have experience dealing with them. They are rather superstitious. Let’s ride on and try to find a better vantage point so we can know for sure who it is.”

Xavo led the way up the gentle slope of the foothills. He occasionally turned to gaze upon the column creating the dust cloud, but he could not identify them. As the sun began to sink towards the western horizon, they came to a large, flat clearing. Xavo halted and studied the area. A large, circular fire ring sat in the center of the clearing, and ruts created by wagon wheels marred the soil. While Lady Mystic waited, Xavo left the clearing on a narrow trail that angled back along a ridge. The trail ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. Xavo stared down at the trail they had traveled earlier. He smiled broadly as his eyes saw the caravan heading up the foothill. He turned and rode back to the clearing.

“It is indeed a Motangan caravan,” announced Xavo, “a large one in fact. Must be at least twenty wagons.”

“And soldiers?” asked Lady Mystic.

“I could not see well enough to count them,” answered Xavo, “but at least a hundred. I suspect that they will stop for the night in this clearing. It appears to have been used for such a purpose before.”

“How much time do we have?” asked Lady Mystic.

“A couple of hours,” smiled Xavo. “What are you thinking?”

“We have time to plan a few surprises for the Motangans,” grinned Lady Mystic.

“Indeed we do,” chuckled Xavo. “Dismount. I will lead the horses away from here so that they do not give us away.”

Lady Mystic slid off the horse and walked around the clearing, imagining where the wagons would rest for the night and where the solders would sleep. When Xavo returned, she was sitting on a log staring at the fire ring.

“What are you dreaming up?” Xavo asked.

“Nothing fancy,” smiled Lady Mystic. “Oh, I did let my imagination run wild for a time, but I think simplicity will accomplish the goal easier. We will each take a different side of the campground. I will draw their attention to the fire ring and then we strike them down. If I am correct in my assumptions, we can spare the horses. They should be well enough away from the soldiers.”

“I will take the western side of the camp,” nodded Xavo. “I want to watch them approach.”

Lady Mystic nodded and Xavo disappeared along the trail leading to the ridge. He found a safe hiding spot and watched the trail leading up the slope. A little over an hour later, the caravan came into view. He counted two dozen wagons. After the caravan passed below his hiding spot, Xavo remained hidden but kept his ears cocked to hear the sounds of the camp being set up. Two hours later he heard the call whispered in his ear.

“It is show time,” Lady Mystic said softly. “Work your way towards the camp.”

Xavo moved silently along the trail and waited behind a tree where he had a good view of the Motangan camp. The fire ring was indeed the center of the camp, but soldiers were also fairly far away from it. He wondered what his lover had in mind.

Unexpectedly, a large cloud of smoke rose from the campfire. Several soldiers shouted in alarm. When everyone’s attention was focused on the fire ring, an image suddenly appeared. It was an image of Emperor Vand and his daughter, flames leaping up from their feet.

“Emperor Vand commands your attention,” the image of Lady Mystic announced loudly. “Gather around and hear his words.”

Xavo stood poised to strike as the Motangans began to gather around the fire ring. None of them appeared eager to get too close, but Lady Mystic spoke again and ordered them to crowd around the fire. Over a hundred Motangans crammed together as ordered by the emperor’s daughter, the heat of the fire causing the soldiers to sweat. Vand appeared to be waiting silently for each and every soldier to be prepared to listen.

“Kneel,” commanded Lady Mystic.

The soldiers immediately knelt, their perspiring faces upturned in anticipation. Light blades suddenly flew from the east side of the camp. Xavo immediately joined the slaughter with light blades of his own. The light blades sliced through the ranks of kneeling soldiers, sending body parts flying into the flames. Wave after wave of light blades soared into the kneeling soldiers as both mages cast their spells as quickly as they could. In seconds it was over, and the image winked out of existence. The mages walked out of their concealment and met in the clearing.

“The illusion was a nice diversion,” complimented Xavo.

“The illusion was the only fun part of the task,” frowned Lady Mystic. “It was too easy. Seeing my father’s men behave as they did, like obedient slaves, makes me realize how foolish I have been with my life. Not long ago I might have behaved just as they did, never questioning, never wondering. If nothing else,” she vowed, “I shall never behave like a slave again.”

“You were never a slave,” Xavo responded. “You were the emperor’s daughter.”

“All of Vand’s people were slaves,” retorted Lady Mystic. “The only difference is that some of them realized it, while the others thought that they had free will. We were all slaves in the end.”

The dawn broke to a beautifully clear sky. The mages atop the peaks of the Bear Mountains in Khadora sent in their reports on the location of the Motangan army on the other side of the river. Inside the cavernous ore mines at Deep Bend, the armies of the southern frontier clans sharpened their blades and readied their mounts in anticipation of a day of deadly battle. Over thirty clans were represented, but the armies were all following the lead of Lord Marshal Yenga of the Torak clan. The lords of the various clans gathered near the main entrance to the mine.

“You would never suspect that the morning had arrived,” remarked Lord Shamino of the Sorgan clan. “It is always nighttime in the bowels of this mountain. How do the miners survive in such gloominess?”

Lord Sevrin glanced briefly at the dim torch-lit cavern and tunnels and ignored the remark. “What are the reports from above?” he asked Yenga.

“Our time has arrived,” Yenga told the assembled lords. “Motanga scouts have just left the riverbank across from us. I am sure that they will report no activity to alarm Premer Shamal. It is time for us to cross the river.”

“Won’t the Motangans see us crossing?” worried Lord Burdine of the Litari clan. “Our losses would be grave indeed.”

“They will not see us cross,” promised Lord Marshal Yenga. “The trail northward swings far away from the riverbank at this point. I was not even sure that Shamal would send scouts to check it out, but now that he has, he will not repeat the exercise. I am sure he was only checking to make sure that no straggling Khadorans were hiding there. Our attack on his left flank will be totally unexpected.”

“You haven’t said how we are going to cross the river,” frowned Lord Shamino. “The bridges have all been destroyed, and there is not a ford within a hundred leagues.”

“That is why the attack will be such a surprise,” grinned Yenga. “Come outside with me and see how we will cross the river.”

The gathered lords followed Lord Marshal Yenga out of the mouth of the mine. They gazed down the slope at the river, which made a dramatic turn to the north. At the foot of the mountain was a large harbor filled with barges. The barges used to haul ore downstream were not the normal Khadoran clan barges. They were huge barges that dwarfed all other river vessels. As the lords watched, a group of Khadoran miners operated a monstrous winch at the upstream limit of the harbor. Slowly a long, encrusted chain began to appear from the murky depths of the river.